


The Best is Yet to Be

by Hammocker



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham Asylum (Video Games)
Genre: Aging, Betaed, Comfort, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 05:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4126477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hammocker/pseuds/Hammocker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How many times did Edward need to remind him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best is Yet to Be

**Author's Note:**

> The universe I use here is relatively ambiguous. There's a good bit of the Arkham games in there, some comic influence, a bit of the Animated Series, along with some personal liberties with the characters. Make of it as you will.

Every so often in the morning, after he had finished toweling off from his shower and donned his too-big bathrobe, Jonathan Crane would take a moment to stop and stare at himself in the bathroom mirror. This morning was one of those mornings, and Jonathan was scrutinizing himself with squinted eyes. His newly wet hair, grown long by time and neglect, clung to his scalp and neck. He savored the rare moment to see it flat and smooth. It would no doubt return to its typical frizzy, greasy state within the hour. Much as he had once tried, Jonathan could never seem to make his hair any less oily. In his university years, he had sought shampoos, conditioners, and other assorted products to ease its appearance to no avail.

Perhaps, though, his hair had simply been ahead of the curve. Now, it barely stood out in Jonathan's mind compared to the wrinkles that had formed upon his face with time. It seemed fitting that his appearance would be so uniformly unkempt. His hair, his face, his scrawny figure, all came together in a disgustingly consistent manner. Jonathan should not have cared about something so inconsequential, so cosmetic as his own appearance yet he did. He didn't want his age to show on his face, he didn't want to look-

“You know someone once told me that, “Obsessive behavior tends to lead to undue stress.””

His train of thought cut off. He turned to look at Edward, standing in the doorway and still in only his green flannel pants. Pants that fit him, Jonathan noted bitterly.

“One's own face is difficult to ignore,” he sighed, tilting his head down towards the sink.

“Jonathan, darling, your face is alluring as ever.” He heard Edward take three steps toward him. “And don't you have enough things to concern yourself with, what with Batman and your experiments and those horrid insects of yours?”

“You have the blessing of being a decade my junior, Edward, I don't expect you to sympathize with my worries.”

“Eight years younger than yourself and graying early, thank you,” Edward corrected with an indignant upturn of his nose.

Despite his tone, Edward stepped over to Jonathan and easily enveloped his scrawny frame, resting his chin against Jonathan's shoulder. One hand rested upon his stomach while another came up to comb through his hair.

“You'll still have this lovely chestnut naturally for a while now, if you keep going as you are,” Edward offered.

Jonathan's frown only deepened, considering how long it would be before he would have to either begin dying his hair back to its normal color or reconcile once more with one of the many grotesque symptoms of age.

“Perhaps,” he said.

Edward chuckled against his neck, his breath a familiar and comforting presence, for the little good that it did. “For a man with such a history with fear, you worry about the smallest of things,” he mused .

“Small concerns are not at all like phobias,” Jonathan said. “They're perfectly manageable without intervention.”

“Yet here I am detecting a less than managed “concern,” one of the very few I know you to so unjustly suffer from,” Edward said, pulling off of Jonathan. “Perhaps you require psychiatric aid, Doctor Crane.”

“As though there are any other psychologists worth their salt in this city,” Jonathan scoffed. If Gotham University and Arkham had taught him anything, it was that Gotham was a prime producer of perhaps the very least effective psychiatrists, psychologists, neuroscientists, and so on. Any scientist intending to study the brain seemed doomed to a life of ineptitude in his field should he try to learn and work in Gotham. All except Jonathan, of course.

“Well, I may not be formerly formally certified as you are, but I do know a thing or two about you.”

Edward took Jonathan's idle hand and prompted him to turn away from the mirror and towards himself.

“For example, looking at my face rather than a mirror has a positive impact on your mental state,” Edward said, exaggerating his typical matter-of-fact tone and giving his best “I'm right and absolutely nothing you say will convince me otherwise” smile.

“Always time to inflate your ego, hm?”

“Hush, my dear, this is about you, not me. Please contain your shock.”

Jonathan snorted, rolling his eyes.

“Now, let's see, the problem here seems to be that you're overly focused upon your appearance related to signs of aging, correct?”

“Correct.”

“Tell me, why would one worry so deeply about such a triviality?”

“Well, I'm not the psychoanalyst here, now, am I?

“Perhaps, just perhaps, you're afraid of what's to come. The future. How we are to continue on our short, miserable existences. Does that strike any chord with you, Doctor Crane?”

“Casting a wide net. You've learned well.”

“It does then.”

“Yes. Yes, I admit it may.”

“Do indulge me, Jonathan, what could the future possibly hold that you'd need to be afraid of? You're not one to worry about money; there's no need. Your health then? Love troubles perhaps? Sexual dysfunction?”

“You know very well that I have no problems with sex,” Jonathan broke in.

“True, very true. Then your health is a concern?”

“I suppose. The aging process has not been the kindest to me.”

“And love?”

“As I've said, I'm a decade older than you, Edward,” Jonathan reiterated, averting the other man's eyes. “Is it not at all reasonable that I might worry that a charming man such as yourself might grow bored of me and chase some young thing?”

“Oh, it's absolutely unreasonable,” Edward said, edging forward and tilting his head down to find Jonathan's eyes. “Why would I ever want anyone else when my dearest is with me already?”

“I am no spring hen-”

“Don't you mean “spring cock?”” Edward asked, smile curling into a grin, similar to the one he got when he was toying with the Bat.

Jonathan's frown dropped even deeper. “You would make a terrible psychoanalyst.”

“Well, it's not my fault that you're unable to distinguish the gendered terms for a chicken.”

“You are- this is completely irrelevant to the subject matter.”

“ _Humor_ me-” Edward enunciated. “-and have a laugh, Jonathan. You desperately need it.”

“You're beginning to sound very much like the clown,” Jonathan said, heavy oil in his voice.

“Oh, please, do _not_ compare me to that abominable excuse for an entertainer; you know very well our commonalities end with our choice of colors.”

“Excuse my brash comparison,” Jonathan said, head dipping forward. “I simply am not in a mood for humor.”

“Then look at it this way: I am trying to emphasize that your concerns are, frankly, ridiculous, Jonathan,” he said, bringing one of Jonathan's hands up to his heart. “While your physical appearance is appealing, I've far more stock in that lovely brain of yours.”

“I don't doubt that,” Jonathan said, “But even that may not last,” 

At his words, Edward immediately came forward and hugged Jonathan, chin putting his shoulder in a vice grip. “You've given me so much in such a short while,” he said, quieter than before. “I wouldn't let you waste away, certainly not alone. I'll never abandon you, you have my word.”

Jonathan brought his own arms around Edward. Even as his doubts continued to press at his mind, Edward's presence was like a soothing balm for his mental ailments. God, how had he survived without this man?

“Why did I not pursue you sooner?” he mumbled, more a rhetorical question than an honest inquiry.

“It's a shame that we couldn't have met earlier,” Edward sighed. “But one must look to the future.”

“Our future of criminal life, frequent incarceration, and inevitable early mortality.”

“All so true. But isn't it a common belief that life, short as it may be, is always better when you have someone to share it with?”

At last, Jonathan couldn't help but crack a smile.

“Perhaps,” he conceded.

“I love you, Jonathan,” Edward said, bringing his head and shoulders back to look Jonathan in the eye. “Really and truly, like no other, exactly as you are.”

“I've always found that very that difficult to believe.”

“You find so many things difficult to believe, I'm sure having a little faith in just one thing couldn't hurt.”

“I suppose not. It's simply not something I often do, this- unconditional trust.”

Edward reached out to put a hand just under Jonathan's jawbone, his thumb stroking the cheek above. “Our bodies will age as much as our biology intends, but I trust myself to continue to love you until the very day my life ends. And you'll do very much the same for me, won't you?”

Jonathan would. He couldn't have stopped loving Edward even if he tried. Not if they were separated or if Edward left him or if he died somehow. Jonathan was never going to not love him again.

“Yes, of course.”

“I thought as much. Cranes do mate for life, you know.”

“Are you a Crane, Nygma?” Jonathan asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Crane-Nygma, that does have a pleasant ring to it, don't you think?”

“You're the expert with words, Edward.”

“Didn't you once say that flattery “feeds into my egomaniacal tendencies?””

“It's not only tendencies that you have, my narcissistic pet,” Jonathan said, shaking his head. “But we must make certain allowances.”

“You're much too good to me,” Edward said, smile taking on a sarcastic flair.

“As you are to yourself,” Jonathan retorted.

He leaned forward to kiss Edward's cheek, an action that was quickly supplanted by Edward shifting his neck and pressing their lips together. It was dry, quite chaste, even formal, yet kissing Edward this way always felt as personal as their sex, even more so at times. Jonathan had never once in his life opened himself to anyone quite like he had Edward. He had been so _afraid_ of letting anyone in, of being hurt as he had been so long ago. Yet here he was, speaking a wordless yet undeniable declaration of complete adoration. And having it returned in kind. Life truly was wonderful.

“Oh, and on a more superficial note,” Edward continued as they finally separated. “You do look much better than myself for your age. And you still manage to outdo me in strength and agility.”

“Hardly an accomplishment.”

“Ha,” Edward huffed, “And perhaps in wry sense of humor as well.”

“I believe we can put ourselves on an even plain there.”

“If we must,” Edward said, somewhere between disappointment and amusement. “No matter. Shall we decamp to the kitchen for breakfast?”

“I'd like that very much,” Jonathan answered, turning, hand in Edward's to exit the room.

They lazily strode alongside each other, basking in quiet togetherness. In the back of his mind, Jonathan was still as worried as ever about what the future would bring. No doubt Edward would have to give him a similar talk in a week or two. Edward was right, though, as he often was when it came to Jonathan.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally, this piece was intended to appear in a much longer, multi-chaptered fic that I had planned. But then a completely different long, multi-chaptered fic that I have a much better grasp on conceptually came along and took virtually all of my attention. I figured I'd put this up eventually anyway, though, so here it is now. Not enough people write this ship, I swear.


End file.
